


Dear heart, don’t cry.

by Dandeliions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blowjobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23576647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandeliions/pseuds/Dandeliions
Summary: ‘A werewolf?’ He asked, frowning. Geralt nodded.‘Hmm. I was hunting said werewolf when it led me to an inn. You-‘‘Hold that thought.’ Jaskier suddenly said, leaping off the bed and vomiting into the bloody bucket of water Geralt had left on the side. Geralt looked away, screwing his face up.‘How much did you drink?’ He asked. Jaskier leant again the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.‘Oh, I dunno, eight or nine pints of whatever swill they were serving. Same as usual.’
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 228





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this ended up much longer than I originally planned.

‘Dammit, Jaskier. Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shovelling it?!’  
‘That’s not fair-‘  
‘The child of surprise, the Djinn, all of if! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’ 

He could still hear the Witcher’s words ringing in his ears, each one slicing into his flesh like a knife, determined to bleed him dry and rob him of his happiness. He made it about half way down the mountain before a hollow sob tore its way out of his throat and he collapsed into the sand, sniffling and hiccoughing pathetically like a beaten child. He remained there on his hands and knees for what felt like hours, but perhaps was only mere minutes. The words still tormenting him, as if the Witcher had followed him down the mountain, repeating them. He willed them to stop between sobs and sniffles, why did he let the Witcher’s words affect him so much? Why was he kneeling in the dirt, ruining his clothes over one man? Over a mutant? He was a much loved and celebrated poet, after all. Why should the words of one man matter?  
‘It’s like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling.’  
He didn’t understand, but still, he remained, imagining he could hear his friends footsteps crunching in the sand behind him.  
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Forgive me, Jaskier?’ Geralt would say. But those footsteps never came, those words never spoken. The bard was left alone in the setting sun. Alone with the ghosts of his imagination. He rose to his feet, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. The grains of the sand mixed with the salt of his tears stung his cheeks. The bard sniffed one last time. Fine, Geralt would get his wish. He would never bother him again. 

That was six months ago, Jaskier had not seen nor heard from his dear friend since. He thought he had resigned to the fact that their story had came to an end, that there would be no more great adventures featuring the humble bard and the White Wolf. However on nights like this, nights where he felt particularly alone, having failed to bed any women, probably due to his drunken state. On these nights, Geralt’s words would creep back into his thoughts to haunt him. Jaskier sighed, picking up his tankard, downing the last of his beer. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a young lass, her dark brown curls framing her puffy face, which was painted with a speckling of freckles. Okay, she was a little on the chubby side, however, this only accentuated her breasts which appeared to be struggling against her bodice. Jaskier grinned. ‘How did you slip past me?’ He muttered to himself, pushing his tankard away while rising from his chair. He sauntered over to the girl, around 18 years of age he figured. He tried his best to avoid colliding with the other patrons who swarmed the inn, failing occasionally, muttering ‘sorrys’ and ‘excuse mes’ until he reached his destination. He coughed discreetly into his hand, trying his best to casually lean against the nearby post, though suspecting he looked rather awkward. The girl looked up at him through dark lashes, her brown eyes appearing almost black in the poorly lit inn. ‘Lovely night for drinking, isn’t it?’ Jaskier commented casually. The corner of the girls lip twitched up ever so slightly, but she gave no reply. ‘Uh, I’m Jaskier, by the way.’ He tried again, making eye contact, so that she could be sure he was addressing her, though his eyes may have wandered down some inches a few times.  
‘I know who you are.’ The girl finally replied, pretending not to notice the bard’s wandering eyes. ‘Everyone knows who you are.’ She continued, absentmindedly tossing her hair from her face. Jaskier smiled.  
‘Well, you know who I am, but I still have no idea as to who you are, my dear.’ She looked at him for several seconds before answering, as if studying his face, looking for something. Jaskier felt rather uncomfortable all of a sudden, it took physical effort not to recoil, but he’d be damned if he ever ran away from such a beauty.  
‘Esmé. My name is Esmé.’ She finally replied, even offering a small smile this time. Jaskier took hold of her hand, brining it up to his lips and placing a chaste kiss against the back of her fingers, bowing ever so slightly for dramatic effect.  
‘Ah, and what a beautiful name it is. Fitting for such a beautiful young maiden.’ Esmé blushed, pulling her hand away.  
‘Are you sure you want to leave your lute over there unattended?’ She asked, nodding towards the table that Jaskier had been occupying, the lute resting against the leg.  
‘Ah, fuck, one moment. Don’t go anywhere.’ Jaskier replied, already shoving past the patrons blocking his way, stumbling every so slightly. An unfortunate effect of alcohol consumption, it was difficult to maintain the illusion of casual confidence and sexual prowess once you start stumbling over your own feet. Esmé looked up at him upon his return.  
‘That was fast,’ she commented. ‘Eager to resume our conversation?’  
‘Ha,’ Jaskier chuckled in reply. ‘I’m always fast.’ Esmé responded with a questioning look, furrowing her brows. ‘Uh, wait, that came out wrong.’ He stuttered nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks flushed, he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or the over consumption of alcohol.  
‘Indeed.’ She replied bluntly before changing the subject. ‘You didn’t play Toss a Coin to your Witcher, why?’ She asked. It was one of the bards more famous songs after all. Jaskier looked at her in confusion.  
‘You were here for my performance? That’s not possible, I would have noticed such a fine beauty in my audience straight away.’ Jaskier declared, a smooth recovery from his earlier blunder he thought.  
‘Perhaps had you not been so distracted, you would have.’ Esmé retorted. Jaskier snorted.  
‘Distracted? Who’s distracted? Are you distracted? Because I’m not!’ He replied, a little too hastily. Esmé gave him an odd look.  
‘Okay... You still haven’t answered my question, though, dear poet. Why would you not play one of your most famous songs of all time?’ She asked again, Jaskier stopped listening. He thought he saw a flash of white hair and black leather from his peripheral. The bard turned, taking a step away from the girl, towards where he thought he’d seen the figure. Esmé sighed in frustration. ‘Uh-huh. Not distracted at all.’ She muttered. Jaskier blinked, turning back around to face her.  
‘I’m sorry, what?’ He asked. She rolled her eyes.  
‘I was asking, again, why you didn’t play Toss a Coin to your Witcher?’ Jaskier didn’t pick up on the annoyance in her tone.  
‘I’m sorry, I don’t play that one anymore. You see, it grew old, very quickly. It’s a silly old song, full of bad puns. I won’t waste my energy playing that drivel.’ Esmé frowned.  
‘But the people like it. I like it. Perhaps you would be willing to give me a private performance of it, upstairs?’ She asked with a glint in her eye. Jaskier shook his head.  
‘I would be more than willing to give you a private performance, my dear. Just not that song. Not that song, please.’ He looked away for a moment, before looking back, flashing her his most convincing smile. ‘As Time Passes, perhaps?’ He offered. Esmé appeared to think his offer over for a moment before nodding.  
‘Alright then. I’ll take it. One private performance of As Time Passes, sir poet.’ 

Jaskier never gave Esmé her private performance, as soon as he closed the door to the upstairs room she had led him to, she was on him. Her lips smashed against his, rather forcefully he thought, but no matter, he would take it. Jaskier returned the girls affections, quickly gaining control over the kiss, carefully shrugging his lute off his shoulder and placing it against the wall while skilfully undoing the clasps of her bodice with his free hand. Esmé allowed herself to be guided backwards towards the palliasse in the centre of the room as Jaskier freed her of her clothing. They fell back upon the straw mattress, Esmé giggling delightfully, Jaskier collapsing on top of her, catching her nipple in his mouth, her giggles quickly turning into soft moans, and whispered ‘yes’’ 

‘You really are quite delightful, my dear.’ Jaskier commented, running his fingertips delicately down Esmé’s side with a smile, basking in the afterglow of their love. Esmé moved away from him, sitting up on the palliasse, pulling the blanket up with her to cover herself. Jaskier shifted, suddenly feeling very naked, both literally and metaphorically. ‘Something bothers you?’ He asked, moving to find his clothes in the dark. She watched him carefully.  
‘No, nothing bothers me.’ She replied quietly. ‘You are quite the skilled performer, both musically and otherwise.’ Jaskier hummed a reply as he pulled his trousers up, Esmé continued to watch. ‘Who is she?’ She asked suddenly. Jaskier turned to look at her, doublet hanging in his hands.  
‘Excuse me?’ He replied, a note of confusion in his voice.  
‘The girl that’s had you so distracted all evening. No, don’t retort, I can tell. You present yourself as a man of mystery, but it’s all an act, I see it. You, sir poet, are incredibly easy to read, despite what you may think.’ Jaskier snorted in reply, shoving his arm through the sleeve of his doublet.  
‘Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, my dear, but you have it all wrong. There’s no girl. Perhaps you are not quite as good at reading people as you seem to think.’ Esmé frowned, now standing up from the mattress, making for her own clothes.  
‘No. I don’t think i’m wrong, you are just hesitant to admit it. I wouldn’t worry, Jaskier. This meant as little to me, as it did to you.’  
‘Oh, charming.’ Jaskier replied bluntly, doing up the final button on his doublet. Esmé laughed.  
‘Do you even remember my name?’ She asked, raising a brow. Jaskier looked away sheepishly. ‘It’s not important.’ She continued while dressing. ‘But I thank you for your time, and for the performance downstairs, perhaps I’ll convince father to let you play again, though it’s rare he allows bards to play here at all.’ Jaskier frowned.  
‘I’m sorry? Father?’ He asked, gingerly reaching for his lute.  
‘Yes, bard, my father owns this inn.’ Esmé chuckled in reply. Jaskier slung his lute over his shoulder, reaching for the door handle.  
‘Ah, well, I think it’s high time I took my leave. Thank you for your hospitality, dear.’  
‘The girl!’ Esmé called out as Jaskier slipped through the doorway, and down the stairs. ‘It’ll work out! I’m sure!’


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt shivered as the girl ran her fingers over his chest, trailing them down to his abdomen and back up. He’d been with her several times over the past few months. He didn’t know why he did it, but each time he visited this whorehouse, he requested her specifically. Her name was Markéta, or at least that’s what she had told him. ‘You have more scars than last time.’ She commented casually, running her fingers over a new, long scar that ran over his left pectoral. It was red and angry looking, one that he had to sew up himself.  
‘Hmm’ Geralt replied, turning his head away to watch a spider build a web in the corner of the window frame. Markéta sat up, exposing her breasts, her nipples hardening in the cool air.   
‘What’s with you tonight?’ She asked, shaking her long brown hair from her face. Geralt looked back at her, a small slither of moonlight crept through the crack in the curtains, illuminating her face, her blue eyes appearing almost silver. ‘I realise you’re not a man of many words to being with, but you’re even more broody than usual.’ She continued. Geralt rolled his eyes, looking back towards the spider in the window. She followed his gaze. ‘You find small insects more interesting than I?’ She asked.   
‘Arachnids’ Geralt replied. Markéta huffed.  
‘Excuse me?’ She asked. Geralt sighed.  
‘Spiders are not insects, they’re arachnids. They have eight legs, not six.’   
‘Of course you would know that, Witcher.’ She replied, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Geralt didn’t reply. ‘So, what is it? What’s bothering you, Witcher. Fail on a contract?’ Markéta asked.   
‘If I’d failed on a contract, I’d be dead.’ Geralt stated. ‘And why do you care if something bothers me?’ He asked, turning to look at her again. She flashed him a smile.  
‘I don’t. Not really. I’m just nosy, I suppose. So, you didn’t fail on a contract, someone’s upset you then? You have a fight with someone? Someone hurt your feelings?’ She probed again. Geralt sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.   
‘I don’t get upset, I don’t have feelings to hurt, and I certainly don’t care enough about anyone to have any metaphorical feelings of mine hurt.’ Markéta raised a brow with a laugh.   
‘Wow, you certainly are tetchy tonight.’ She replied, also sitting up, moving to find her clothes. ‘Besides, I know that’s not true. What about the bard, Jaskier. He’s your friend, is he not?’ She asked, pulling her knickers up her thighs. Geralt furrowed his brow, but did not give answer to her question, now beginning to dress himself. ‘Come to think of it, I watch him play often, and I haven’t heard any new songs involving you lately.’ She continued. ‘Ah, so that’s it, is it? Your little boyfriend broke up with you? That’s sad.’ Markéta finished with a smirk. Geralt shot her daggers.   
‘If you must know, I got rid of him.’ He replied, throwing on his tunic. Markéta tilted her head.   
‘Got rid of? What is he, an old mangey dog? What happened?’ She asked, crossing the room to meet him, Geralt turned away.   
‘I don’t see how any of this is any of your business.’ He answered, collecting his swords, slinging the scabbard over his back.   
‘As I’m to understand it, friends don’t come often in a world like yours. You should treat them better, Geralt. Frankly, I’m surprised he put up with you this long with an attitude like that. Poor boy.’ She moved away, picking up her dress. Geralt didn’t move.   
‘You’re pathetic.’ He spat. ‘Analysing me. You think you know me, you don’t. No one does.’   
‘I’m pathetic? I’m not the one paying for sex.’ Markéta replied with a smirk. Geralt drew in a deep breath.   
‘I should be going, I have work to do.’   
‘Hmm. What is it this time? Giant arachnids?’ she asked, glancing to the spider in the window. Geralt opened the door.   
‘Those are called Arachnamorphs. But no, drowner nest.’ He replied before slipping out the door. 

‘Woah, girl.’ Geralt said, pulling on the reigns, drawing Roach to a halt alongside the riverbed. He would continue on foot, following the riverbed until he found the lake. It wouldn’t be much further, he thought, a short walk. Just far enough away so that Roach would not be spooked by the monsters that lurked on the bank, but close enough so that he may return to her quickly if things took a turn for the worst. Not that things were likely to get bad, it was only a mere drowners nest. Drowners were child’s play to the experienced Witcher, he had dealt with drowners many times before. Drowners were the sort of monster young Witcher’s were sent out to deal with to test their abilities. On the whole, drowners were not much of a problem either. They never went out of their way to hunt humans, and could proove quite useful seeing as they fed on corpses that found their way into the water, thus stopping the spread of disease. No, drowners, if left alone would not be problematic. But they were not left alone, because humans were problematic, they had to fish, they said, ‘To feed our families, master Witcher.’ Did it occur to them to just fish somewhere else? There were plenty of rivers and lakes in this town. But no, they wouldn’t, as this particular lake, on this particular bank was a prime fishing spot, apparently. So Geralt had to remove the drowners, before any more idiotic humans wound up as dinner. 

Geralt dismounted and tied Roach’s reigns to a nearby post. The horse snorted, seemingly in protest. ‘I won’t be long, alright. Though, I may come back smelling of fish guts, sorry.’ Geralt told the mare, who stomped a hoof into the gravel and nudged his shoulder with her muzzle. Geralt smiled, patting her muzzle back affectionately before setting off to follow the river. It didn’t take long for the smell to reach him, the smell of rotting flesh, fish and stale blood. A combination of smells which were a dead giveaway for a drowners nest. He continued a few more yards, until he could hear them, their chattering completely inhuman, yet so familiar to him. Geralt crouched down in the undergrowth, slowly unsheathing his silver sword, readying for the fight. He listened for a few moments more, he could hear their webbed feet slapping against the sandy bank as they scuttled about. Around 4 or 5 of them, he estimated. An easy fight. He stood again, slowly approaching the bank, trudging carefully, he hoped not to frighten the creatures and send them scurrying back into the water. A twig snapped beneath his left boot, he stopped and listened, the drowners gave no indication that they’d heard, continuing to scavenge about on the sand. A lark chirped on the branch above his head. 

Geralt continued, deftly leaping down onto the bank, casting aard as he landed. Three of the drowners flew back several feet, screeching as they hit the ground, sand flying up around them. The other two hurtled towards him, chattering nonsense that probably meant something along the lines of ‘looks like dinners here.’ Geralt ducked to his right, avoiding the claws of the closest drowner, pirouetting and attacking from behind. The sword cut into the scaly flesh of the monster, it wailed briefly before Geralt yanked the sword back out of its shoulder, the force of the movement spraying blood into his face. It collapsed into the sand. One down. Geralt shook his bloody hair from his face, the second drowner that had remained standing was coming at him from the left. He pirouetted again, this time attacking from the front, his sword easily slicing into the soft abdomen of the creature. It fell instantly, barely making a sound before succumbing to death, its entrails now spilling over the sand. Two down. The remaining three were now on their feet, coming for him while wailing and screeching horribly. Geralt ran straight towards the one in the middle, sword held out in front of him like a lance. He leapt, impaling the monster through the chest with one blow, turning and casting aard again, knocking the last two over, giving him a few moments to yank his sword back out of the drowner he had just speared to the ground. Three down. With one movement, he was on the fourth before it could stand, plunging the sword into its chest. Four down. The last drowner flew at him, its claws coming dangerously close to his face, but Geralt ducked, span, and with one swift movement, sent the monsters head flying across the bank, causing more blood to spray up into his face. Geralt spat bloody saliva onto the sand, then lowered his sword, breathing heavily. He stood for a few moments, listening for any signs of more drowners lurking about beneath the surface of the water, he heard nothing. Content that the job was done, he sheathed his sword, and began making his way back up the bank. 

Roach snorted and stomped her feet as Geralt approached. ‘I know, I know, I smell awful. I did warn you.’ He said with a smile, attempting to wipe the remaining blood off his face, though he suspected he had only smeared it around. He really needed a bath. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the inn.’ He continued, mounting the horse. ‘We’ll get our money, you can have a nice sleep in a stable, and I can get cleaned up. How’s that sound?’ Roach whinnied in reply as Geralt spurred her on down the path at a gentle trot. The inn was only a short ride away, which Roach was probably thankful for, Geralt knew he smelt awful, and probably looked much worse. He dismounted, throwing the reigns to the stable boy who didn’t say a word as he guided the chestnut to the stable, glancing back at the Witcher with a look of terror. Geralt smiled. Well, time to scare more people, he thought to himself before opening the door to the inn. The room fell silent, the patrons stopping mid conversation to stare at the bloody and grimy Witcher who had just waltzed through the door, a reaction he was used to. He scanned the room, and found the man he was looking for sat at the back of the inn, the peasant who had hired him for the job. Geralt walked over, taking a seat at the bench opposite the man. ‘Job’s done’ he said casually. The other patrons of the inn slowly began to resume their conversations.   
‘Aye, I can see that, master Witcher.’ Replied the peasant. Reaching for his coin purse which he placed on the table in front of Geralt. ‘Thank you, kind sir, may the gods look favourably upon you.’ He continued before standing and leaving Geralt to himself. He picked up the coin purse as the innkeeper approached, placing a pint of ale on the table. He nodded his thanks.   
‘Will you be needing a room?’ The innkeeper asked. Geralt took a large sip of his drink and nodded.  
‘Yes, and a bath prepared, if you wouldn’t mind.’ He replied, the innkeeper nodded back.  
‘Of course.’ 

Just as Geralt tipped back the last of his ale and stood, preparing to make his way to his bath, he heard a cough behind him.   
‘Excuse me, sir?’ Asked a gruff voice. Geralt turned around, coming face to face with a rather shaggy looking man wearing a hood.   
‘Hmm?’ Geralt replied, slightly annoyed, his bath would be getting cold. The man coughed again.  
‘You are a Witcher, yes?’ He asked. Geralt rolled his eyes.  
‘No, I’m a baker, what’s it look like?’ He replied sarcastically. The man averted his eyes.  
‘Ah, yes, sorry. It’s plain to see, who you are.’ He said, scratching at his beard. ‘What I mean to ask is, could you help an old man out? You see, there is a werewolf prowling the woods on the other side of town. My brother, he owns an inn on the road just off the woods, and folk are scarcely coming in anymore, they are afeared the beast will get them.’ He explained, looking at Geralt hopefully.   
‘How much?’ Geralt asked. The man lowered his eyes.   
‘50 crowns, it’s all I can offer, sir.’ He replied. Geralt snorted.   
‘Fifty crowns for a werewolf? No chance.’ He answered, turning to leave. He knew there probably was no werewolf, but if he was to waste his time, he wanted to be paid well for it.  
‘Alright, alright! One hundred!’ The man nearly shouted. Geralt stopped, thought for a moment, then nodded.  
‘Alright, one hundred crowns and I’ll do it. Tomorrow.’ He turned to leave again, hoping to get to his bath before it was completely cold.  
‘There’s just one more thing.’ The man said, Geralt sighed.  
‘What?’ He asked, a touch of annoyance in his voice.  
‘My brother, he cannot know that I hired you. Him and his customers, they don’t like your kind, or any kind that ain’t human for that matter.’ The man informed him with an apologetic smile. Geralt sighed.  
‘Great.’


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt leant against the oak tree, carefully applying oil to his silver sword. He still wasn’t convinced there was an actual werewolf in these woods, werewolves were not as common as folk tales led one to believe. However, judging from his second conversation he had with the old man earlier on in the day, there was definitely something in these woods. Probably a pack of regular wolves, wargs or maybe even a bear. 

‘And what makes you so sure that you have a werewolf problem?’ Geralt asked, drumming his fingers on the wooden bench as the old man picked the remaining meat off his chicken thigh with his teeth.   
‘We’ve all heard it, howling in the night. Folk have gone missing. Some young men, skilled hunters, went out into the woods to investigate, none of them returned. Their bodies were found in the morning.’ The man informed him, finally putting the bone down on the plate.  
‘Could be regular wolves.’ Geralt said. ‘Has anyone actually seen the creature?’   
‘Nay. No one has seen it. At least no one who’s still alive has. But it’s out there, believe me, Witcher.’ The man met Geralts gaze, he appeared truly concerned about the situation.   
‘Alright. What about the bodies then? What did they look like?’ Geralt asked, fingers still drumming into the wood. The man furrowed his brow.  
‘Well, they looked as you might expect, bloody corpses.’ Geralt sighed.  
‘I need specifics. What were their wounds like?’   
‘Well, they had claw marks on their faces and bodies. Oh, and teeth marks, some had large chunks missing from their limbs.’ The man replied, glancing around as if afraid that someone might hear them.  
‘So the kind of wounds a regular pack of wolves might inflict.’ Geralt noted, mainly to himself. The man swallowed.  
‘Nay, sir, these were much larger than a wolf could make. And these men, skilled hunters, like I said. They would not have been taken down by just any old wolf.’ Geralt arched his brow.  
‘Alright, werewolves however, tend to take organs. Perhaps not all of the boys had organs missing. But at least one would have, if this was a werewolf attack.’ The man widened his eyes and nodded.  
‘Aye! Now that you mention it, I think I recall hearing something about missing organs too.’ Geralt stood.  
‘Alright, I’ll be heading to the woods tonight.’ 

No, Geralt was not convinced that there was a werewolf in these woods. Still, he could definitely hunt whatever beast prowled these woods and collect his reward. He doubted the man would ask for solid proof that there had been a werewolf. As long as he returned with a bloody sword, it would be enough to collect his coin. He took a deep breath in through his nose and returned the empty oil jar to his pouch. The woods were still in the night, he could hear the hooting of an owl in the distance. Geralt couldn’t sense anything untoward here, pushing away from the tree, he ventured deeper into the woods, sword in hand, ready for battle. He kept his footsteps light, senses on high alert as he walked, sniffing the air. The woods were thick here, scarcely any light from the moon penetrated the dense covering of the trees from above, the little light that did peak through reflected off his sword. 

Lack of light was not a problem for Geralt, his senses enhanced in his early days at Kaer Morhen, the same was true of all Witchers. Geralt heard a twig snap, he stopped, listening intently. Nothing. Not even the owl could be heard anymore, it was dead silent. It would have been almost unnerving, if he weren’t a Witcher. Not that Witchers never felt fear, of course they did, though Geralt would never admit it. He had learnt to push his emotions down and ignore them long ago, including his sense of fear. All Witchers were trained in this manner, what good is a monster hunter if they bolt, tail tucked between their legs every time they felt scared? What good is a monster hunter if they feel empathy? A Witcher must suppress these emotions in order to protect humanity. Or so he had been told, he suspected that this way of thinking was what had lead to the death of so many of his Witcher brothers. Fear was a basic human instinct that had kept them alive for so long, you feel scared, you run, you don’t get hurt. When Witchers ignore that fear, they are convinced they are invincible. They’re not. 

Humans had taken this information and twisted it, they believed that Witchers couldn’t feel anything, that they were stone cold killing machines. In telling themselves this, it made it easier for them to treat Witchers with the distain that they did, Geralt thought. It was easy to call a person a mutant, and throw rocks at him if they believed that person couldn’t feel anything. Geralt wasn’t a stone cold killing machine, sometimes he spared creatures that one might consider ‘monsters’, he even spared a werewolf once. The man locked himself away when he knew he was about to transform, he never hurt anyone, there was no need to kill him. Geralt had killed humans however, despite what the Witchers code may say. As he saw it, his job was to kill monsters and not all non-humans were monsters, and sometimes, humans were monsters. 

Geralt heard another twig snap, he stopped again, slowly turning on the spot, looking into the darkness. He could see nothing, aside from shadows dancing in the distance. A human might have been tricked into thinking there was something there, but Geralt knew better. He knew how the mind liked to try and make sense of things in the dark, causing one to see things that aren’t actually there. He couldn’t see it, but he could smell it, the smell of wet dog and rotten flesh permeated the air. Geralt wrinkled his nose. ‘Ah. Got you.’ He muttered into the night, slowly setting off in the direction the smell was coming from, sword at the ready. He didn’t hear it again, but the smell led him to a small shack deep in the centre of the woods. The odour of blood and rotten flesh was strong here, which could probably be attributed to the strew of limbs, hunks of meat, bone and organs laying about outside the premises. Geralt almost recoiled. ‘Well, what do you know, must be a werewolf after all. Either that, or a very intelligent pack of wolves.’ Geralt announced to no one in particular. ‘Well, I should look around. The beast can’t be too far away.’ He continued, talking to himself as he made for the door. 

Just as Geralt reached for the handle, a hunk of wet, stinking fur was on him. He fell against the door with a thud, smacking his forehead against the frame. He felt a weight hit the back of his head, and fell to the floor, dropping his sword, it made a loud clang as it hit the hard ground. The werewolf could be heard darting away through the trees. Geralt groaned, chastising himself for letting his guard down. ‘Dammnit’ He cursed, pushing himself up onto his knees with his hands. Bringing one up to touch his forehead. He examined his fingers, they were wet and sticky with his own blood. ‘Dammnit!’ He cursed again, louder this time, manoeuvring himself so that he was sat on the ground, back against the door of the shack. He rummaged through his pouch, pulling out a little jar of Witchers potion, uncorking it, and downing it in one. It wouldn’t be long before the potion took affect, his eyes becoming pools of black nothingness, and grotesque dark veins would creep over his face. 

Geralt grabbed his sword as he stood, he ignored the throb in his head and set off cautiously in the direction he thought he heard the beast run. He noticed long, malicious claw marks in the trees he passed, the creature was taunting him, this was a game. The werewolf could have injured him more badly back at the shack, but it didn’t, it wanted the thrill of the chase. Geralt picked up speed, sprinting through the woods, dodging the trees as quietly as he could. He heard rustling in the distance, the smell the beast gave off grew stronger. ‘Dammit, get back here and let me kill you, you blasted whoreson!’ Geralt cried out into the night. He heard a howl.  
‘Wiiiiitcheeeer.’ The werewolf snarled out from the trees in the distance. Geralt stopped, breathing heavily, lifting his sword. ‘I’ve never dined on Witcher flesh before. I wonder how you’ll taste.’ It continued. Geralt heard movement from his right, then from behind, then from the left. It was circling him.   
‘I’ve had enough of your games. Come out and fight!’ Geralt called out, pirouetting on the spot, sword extended. He heard a loud swoosh and another howl ahead, the werewolf had made off again, it was heading towards the road. ‘Fuck.’ Geralt muttered before setting off again at a full sprint, he needed to catch the beast before it reached the small village. The old man had said his brothers inn lay on the road just at the edge of the woods. There was already a faint smell of alcohol in the air. From what the old man had told him, his brother and the villagers would not be too happy at the sight of a Witcher butchering a werewolf out on the road, even if he did save their lives. He wondered for a moment why he should even bother helping people who wouldn’t be grateful, people who would probably hurl words of venom at the sight of him. 

The werewolf stopped, it was pacing around some feet ahead of the Witcher. Geralt slowed to a walk, his breathing was heavy, but his heartbeat remained slow and steady in his chest. ‘Don’t go any further if you know what’s good for you.’ Geralt spoke up, black eyes scanning the tree line ahead of him. The werewolf growled.   
‘Am I to believe... you’ll spare me... if I don’t go further?’ It asked, drawing out its words. This was definitely a game.  
‘I won’t spare you. But I might kill you nicely if you come back now. It won’t hurt. I promise.’ Geralt said, cautiously creeping foreword. The creature laughed.   
‘A small act of meeerrrcy.... from the Wiiiitcheeerr.’ It replied, still pacing around in the distance. ‘I think not! Do you hear that, Witcher?’ It continued, Geralt strained his ears. ‘There’s fresh meat nearby.... they’re drunk! Oh, I do love a drunk human. The way they stumble and fall as you attack. They’ll have no clueeee,’ it paused, snarling. ‘No clue what’s going on.’ Geralt stepped foreword again. ‘Listen to me. I’ve spared your kind before. You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to kill humans to survive.’ He tried to reason with it, he could see the creature now, an outline of dark, shaggy fur just ahead of him.   
‘Ha!’ It laughed in reply. ‘Am I to believe that a ruthless killer such as yourself is capable of such a thing?! You lie, Witcher!’ It shouted, now looking at him, yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the night. Geralt kept a tight grip on his sword, but didn’t move to raise it. ‘I would not usually venture out this far, but you gave me little choice with all your chasing! They’ll have you to thank for their deaths!’ Geralt lunged foreword, but the werewolf was quicker, leaping off through the last of the trees. It stopped just short of the road. ‘Listen.’ It said. For some reason, Geralt did as he was told, stopping to listen. ‘There’s singing coming from that inn, Witcher. The oh so famous poet, I believe. What’s his name?’ The werewolf asked.  
‘Jaskier...’ Geralt replied in disbelief.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier grinned and bowed, resting his lute against the wall behind him. The crowd in this village inn was small, but jovial. They clapped in delight as Jaskier finished yet another song for them that evening. He stumbled over to the bar. He was drunk. Not even a little drunk, very drunk. He was sure that fact was conveyed through his slurred singing, and messy lute playing, however, his audience were just as drunk as he, they didn’t appear to notice, nor care. They hadn’t heard of him, which Jaskier had thought odd, his name had reached most places by now, even the smallest towns and villages. But it didn’t matter, they allowed him to play in any case, greeting him with open arms, and offering him payment in the form of free alcohol. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He was in his element.   
‘Another, sir.’ Jaskier said, leaning against the bar for support, hiccoughing as the tankard was placed in front of him. ‘Thanks.’ He hiccoughed again, then took a large swig of his drink. A couple of young women approached from across the room, giggling and swaying their hips.   
‘Ohh, you play such wonderful songs!’ The blonde one crooned, leaning against the bar to his left. He looked at her and grinned, the other, brunette, leant against the bar to his right.   
‘What did you say you name was, again?’ The brunette asked, slurring slightly. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen a girl so drunk.   
‘Jas,’ he hiccoughed, ‘kier. Jaskier.’ He informed her, she smiled in reply, touching his arm and fluttering her lashes at him. Her friend was now slouched against the bar, muttering something that he couldn’t quite hear.

Yes, he enjoyed this small inn very much. He liked these people. Though he would never consider living here permanently, he was a city boy at heart. He didn’t think he would be able to live without the hustle and bustle of the city. Without ease of access to lavish outfits, or a proper bath. But for now, he was content. It was even somewhat refreshing to not be recognised, and instead to be just another nobody drinking away his sorrows in a small village inn. Jaskier took a step forward.   
‘You people, are my kind of people!’ He announced to the room.   
‘Aye, you just keep your hands off my daughter, you pervert!’ An older woman shouted back at him, nodding towards the brunette that was still leaning on the bar. Her tone suggested her words were meant in jest. Jaskier smiled slipping into a nearby chair.  
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.’ He replied. The woman smiled warmly back, taking the chair opposite him. It was certainly nice to have people trust him and so openly strike up conversation. To have people not look at him with suspicion as so many used to when he entered a room accompanied with a Witcher.   
‘You seem like a nice man, but we’ve ‘ad your kind here before.’ She said, suddenly growing serious. Jaskier furrowed his brow.   
‘My kind?’ He asked. ‘what’s that mean?’   
‘City folk.’ She replied, gesturing to the innkeeper for more drinks. ‘City folk who can’t keep their hands to theirselves.’ She continued, then nodded thanks to the innkeeper as he placed two fresh pints on the table. Jaskier grabbed his and pulled it closer, but didn’t move to take a sip. The woman however, took a large gulp of hers.   
‘Note taken.’ Jaskier answered. He usually wasn’t scared off so easily, but he liked these people, and didn’t fancy making enemies of them. He noticed a small group of patrons beginning to make a fuss near the door, he and the woman sat opposite him glanced over to them.

‘Do you hear it?’ Asked a man, ear pressed to the door, brow furrowed in concentration. The woman who was with him, resting her hand on his shoulder and leaning in close suddenly gasped and stepped back.  
‘Aye! I hear it! Oh gods!’ She exclaimed in fear. Jaskiers interest was piqued.   
‘Hear what?’ He asked from his seat, sipping at his drink. Nearly everyone in the inn looked at him in shock as if to say ‘you don’t know?!’ Jaskier glanced around. ‘I’m not from here, remember?’ He continued, the woman who accompanied him at his table provided answer.  
‘The beast.’ She whispered, turning a deathly shade of grey. Other patrons of the inn began to mutter. Jaskier thought they all sounded quite mad.  
‘We should all stay as quiet as mice.’ Someone said from somewhere at the back of the inn.  
‘Don’t be ridiculous, it can still smell us! We’re done for! I told you we shouldn’t have came out, John!’ A woman cried from somewhere else.  
‘You silly tart, it could still smell us even if we were home!’ A man replied, John, Jaskier assumed.   
‘What beast?’ He asked then, with half interest, still sipping his drink.  
‘The werewolf.’ Someone replied. Jaskier snorted.   
‘Werewolf? Don’t make me laugh. We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing out there.’ He said with a wave of his hand, dismissing them. The woman opposite him shook her head, pushing away her tankard.  
‘I’m afraid they’re right, sir poet. A werewolf roams the woods just off this road.’ She informed him, bowing her head. Jaskier stood, this was ridiculous. If they truly believed a werewolf lived so close, they wouldn’t have left their houses at all. This was a ploy to scare the city boy, he was sure of it. Well, he’d show them, he wasn’t scared.  
‘Let me out there.’ He said with drunken confidence. ‘Let me out, and you’ll see. There’s nothing out there. Perhaps you heard a mouse in the bushes, sir.’ He looked at the man who was guarding the door. ‘Werewolves are much less common than you think.’ He declared, heading for the exit.  
‘Yeah? And how would you know?’ The innkeeper spoke up from behind the bar.   
‘I just do, alright.’ Jaskier said. He had remembered Geralt telling him that one night, when they were setting up camp in the woods. Jaskier had heard howling in the distance, he had asked Geralt if there could be werewolves here. Geralt told him it was unlikely. While werewolves certainly were real, they were not so common. Mostly they were just used in stories to frighten small children. ‘Move away from the door.’ He said to the man who glanced around at the other patrons of the inn before taking a step back, moving out of Jaskier’s way.  
‘You’ll get us all killed.’ The woman he had left sat at the table said in horror, watching him open the door. He rolled his eyes before stepping outside. 

Jaskier stood at the bottom of the path squinting in the dark. The night air was cool, but it didn’t bother the bard, who was being kept warm thanks to the alcohol sitting in his stomach. He turned back around. ‘There’s nothing out here!’ He called back towards the inn, moving to make his way back up the path. He heard a growl from behind, and stopped in his tracks. He didn’t know why he did it, he should have ran, but instead, he slowly turned back around. He gulped, he could see it. Just across the road, lurking by the trees at the edge of the woods. A very large, furry looking beast, yellow eyes glowing under the light of the mood. ‘Oh sweet Melitele, it is a werewolf.’ He whispered, taking a step back. The creature howled and lunged, it was now only a few paces in front of him, snarling, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, drool dripping off its very, very large teeth. 

Jaskier didn’t know why, but the next words out of his mouth weren’t ‘Aaaahhhhh!’ Or ‘Oh, fuck!’ They were ‘Uhh, nice doggy.’ He then turned on his heel, breaking into a very wobbly run. The creature jumped again, it was on him in seconds. Jaskier hit the floor hard, swallowing a large mouthful of dirt. He tried to scramble away, scratching at the ground with his fingernails, but it was no use, the monster was at least twice his size. He cried out in pain as the werewolf gripped him, flipping him over onto his back, his head made an awful noise as it collided with the hard ground. He squeezed his eyes shut, he could feel the monsters hot breath on his face, it smelt of rotten flesh. Drool dripped onto his forehead. 

He couldn’t believe his last words were going to be ‘uhh, nice doggy.’ He swallowed hard, preparing himself for death, he hoped it would at least be quick. He heard what sounded like metal, then crunching bone. Hot, viscous liquid splattered across his face, then there was a thud. He didn’t feel paid. ‘Am... am I dead?’ He stuttered, reaching up to touch his face, eyes still squeezed shut. His face was wet and sticky, he smelt iron. That was blood, that was definitely blood. A lot of blood.   
‘No. You aren’t dead.’ Replied a gruff voice. He knew that voice. He heard a sword being sheathed. ‘The werewolf, however, is.’ The voice continued. The weight of the beast was suddenly gone, he heard its body hit the ground beside him. Jaskier slowly opened his eyes. He saw a blur of black leather, white hair, and black eyes against pale, veiny skin.  
‘Geralt?’ Jaskier asked in confusion, he tried to sit up, but his head hurt too much. He groaned, giving up and resting back against the dirt. A nap would be good right now.   
‘Yeah, it’s me.’ Geralt replied, as nonchalant and monotone as ever. ‘Here. Let me help you up.’ He said, extending his hand. Jaskier pushed himself up on an elbow and took the offered hand. He was suddenly hurled up on his feet, he felt very dizzy, he reached up, rubbing at his temples. ‘Are you alright?’ Geralt asked, looking at the bard inquisitively. Jaskier nodded.  
‘I- I think so?’ He replied stumbling back ever so slightly, though it sounded more like a question. Was he alright? Geralt grabbed his shoulders to steady him.  
‘Woah, easy.’ Geralt said softly, it was almost a whisper. Jaskier thought he sounded affectionate, which didn’t sound very much like Geralt at all. 

Jaskier’s head was spinning, he couldn’t see straight. He knew Geralt was still staring at him as if trying to work out some complicated puzzle, he didn’t say anything, he also didn’t remove his hands off his shoulders. Jaskier could feel his fingertips squeezing into his flesh. He thought he would throw up any minute. The door of the inn was thrust open, the sound penetrating the silence that hung in the air between the bard and the Witcher, it hurt Jaskier’s ears. Several of the patrons spilled outside, they began to scream, probably at the sight of the mangled werewolf laying in a pool of blood on the ground mere inches away from where he was now stood. Jaskier winced, this was not helping the pain in his head, he felt Geralt release him, he thought he might fall without his support. 

‘It’s the werewolf!’ Someone cried.  
‘And a Witcher!’ Cried someone else.   
‘Begone, mutant’ Jaskier heard from the crowd, a woman was wailing somewhere.   
‘We don’t like your kind here!’ Someone else spat. Jaskier turned around then, he was surprised he was still standing. He tried to focus, but everything had became a blur.  
‘Hey! That Witcher just saved my life! And consequently, all of yours!’ He reached out for the nearby fence for support. ‘That monster would have been after all of you after it was finished with me!’ He continued, slurring and gesturing to the werewolf with his other hand. ‘You should be thankful!’ The woman he was sat with earlier appeared, closely followed by her daughter. Jaskier narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on her face.  
‘You know him?’ She asked, nodding to Geralt.  
‘Yes, I know him. He’s a frie-‘ Jaskier stopped himself, then shrugged. ‘I know him.’ He finished. The woman glowered at him, then ushered her daughter back inside. The innkeeper spoke up next. ‘Then we don’t want you here either, poet. You and the mutant, leave.’ He spat before heading back inside, the rest of the patrons following close behind. Someone was comforting the wailing woman. Jaskier recognised her, it was the ‘tart’. 

‘Fucking ingrates.’ Jaskier spat, turning to face Geralt, still holding onto the fence for support. ‘Humans, right?’ he continued. Geralt said nothing. Jaskier stood for a moment, contemplating the whole situation. He nearly died tonight, he was seconds away from death. Geralt had saved him. Geralt. The Witcher he had once considered a friend. He hadn’t seen him for months, then he shows up out of nowhere and saves his life? He was covered in werewolf blood. He smelt of wet dog. He leant over the fence and threw up. Geralt grimaced.   
‘You’re human too, Jaskier.’ He finally replied, taking a step over to the bard. Jaskier leant against the fence and slowly slid down it until he was sat on the floor.   
‘Hmm, sometimes I wish I wasn’t.’ He said, not so much as a reply to Geralt, but more as a general statement. Then he passed out.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt rubbed his hands over his face with a groan. This was definitely not how he envisioned his night going. He stepped over the body of the werewolf, and walked up the small path that lead up to the inn, he cautiously opened the door. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, full of hatred and fear. ‘I told you, we don’t want you here. Don’t expect any payment.’ The innkeeper told him through gritted teeth. Geralt glanced around the room, hovering in the doorway.  
‘I just want the bard’s lute.’ He said. The innkeeper narrowed his eyes, but pointed to the lute at the back of the room. ‘Take it and leave. Never come back, either of you.’ The innkeeper threatened. Geralt did as he was told, taking the lute, and leaving without another word. He heaved the very unconscious Jaskier over his shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ He said. ‘There’s an inn on the other side of town we can stay at.’ 

The walk seemed to take an age, Jaskier wasn’t particularly heavy, but Geralt was tired, his muscles were beginning to ache now that the potion was wearing off. ‘Couldn’t you have waited until we got inside somewhere to pass out?’ He muttered to the bard, it was fruitless. He couldn’t hear him. He entered the inn, still carrying Jaskier over his shoulder, it was quiet inside, everyone having retired to their rooms or having gone back home for the night. The innkeeper glanced up at him as he approached. ‘I’ll need a room for another night.’ Geralt said, placing a coin pouch on the bar. The innkeeper glanced at the unconscious man slung over his shoulder, then back at Geralt. ‘He’s just drunk.’ Geralt stated, understanding the innkeepers concern. The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. Geralt sighed and placed another pouch on the bar, the innkeeper smiled at this, taking them both nodding to the stairs.  
‘Same room as last night.’ He said, before disappearing out the back. 

Geralt dropped Jaskier onto the palliasse, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to, he just wanted the weight off his shoulder, it was beginning to ache dreadfully. Jaskier barley made a sound as his body thumped into the mattress, he was very unconscious. Geralt wondered how much he had drunk as he removed the bard’s shoes and rolled him onto his side, in case he decided he wanted to throw up again in his sleep. He stunk of a brewery. Or rather, a murder in a brewery, given he also stunk of blood. Geralt crouched beside him for a moment, frowning, he looked a mess. He nearly reached up to brush his fringe, sticky with blood from his face, but stopped himself. He stood and made his way back downstairs. He needed water and a rag.

The innkeeper had given him a small bucket of water without too much trouble, he had muttered something about hoping the Witcher hadn’t brought trouble with him, it was bad for business. Geralt assured him that there would be no trouble, and that him and Jaskier would be gone by the morning. Once back upstairs, he dipped the rag into the water and tried his best to wipe the blood from the unconscious bard’s face. Jaskier groaned slightly, shifting in his sleep. Geralt paused. ‘Sorry, water’s cold.’ He muttered, ringing the rag out, then tossing it aside. He stood, taking a step away from the bard. He still looked worse for wear, his clothes were certainly ruined, he was sure Jaskier would complain about it in the morning, as was typical for the bard. Always losing oversight of the bigger picture and complaining about things that were insignificant.  
‘Geralt, my feet hurt.’  
‘It’s cold.’  
‘I’m tired.’  
Geralt found himself smiling ever so slightly, watching the bard. He didn’t look quite as frightful as he did moments ago, he was thankful he hadn’t been injured. He moved to the centre of the room, removed his own shoes, then knelt, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, but he could meditate. He needed to remain alert enough to keep an eye on Jaskier. Just in case the idiot started to vomit and choke in his sleep. He wasn’t sure what Jaskier would think about leaving this earth while choking on his own vomit. 

Geralt was stood staring out the window when he heard Jaskier stir. He glanced over to the bard. Jaskier sat up slowly, rubbing his head. ‘Oh good, you’re awake. We need to leave, I promised the innkeeper we’d be gone by the morning.’ Geralt said, watching Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. The bard looked at him in confusion.  
‘Wha- where are we? Why are you here? What happened?’ Jaskier asked hoarsely, then coughed, his throat was incredibly dry. Geralt turned to face him fully now.  
‘You were attacked by a werewolf.’ Geralt said matter-of-factly. Jaskier looked around the room, dazed.  
‘A werewolf?’ He asked, frowning. Geralt nodded.  
‘Hmm. I was hunting said werewolf when it led me to an inn. You-‘  
‘Hold that thought.’ Jaskier suddenly said, leaping off the bed and vomiting into the bloody bucket of water Geralt had left on the side. Geralt looked away, screwing his face up.  
‘How much did you drink?’ He asked. Jaskier leant again the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
‘Oh, I dunno, eight or nine pints of whatever swill they were serving. Same as usual.’ Jaskier replied. Geralt furrowed his brow.  
‘Why?’ He asked. ‘What happened to you?’ Jaskier scoffed.  
‘What happened to me?! You happened to me, Geralt! You- you made me feel worthless. Like I was nothing, that no one would ever want me! I have nobody. What else am I to do?!’ Jaskier shouted, then looked away, pawing at his face with his hands. He wasn’t going to cry, not now. Geralt looked down at his feet, but didn’t say anything. Jaskier didn’t expect much more from the Witcher. ‘Well, thank you for saving me. But since I didn’t ask you to, I don’t think I owe you any coin. I have none in any case. You can leave now.’ Jaskier continued.  
‘I don’t want your coin, Jaskier.’ Geralt replied quietly, it was almost timid.  
‘I asked you to leave.’ Jaskier repeated, crossing his arms. Geralt shook his head.  
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Jaskier dropped his arms dramatically in exasperation.  
‘Fine! I’ll leave then. Farewell, Geralt.’ Jaskier declared, making for the door, not seeming bothered that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Geralt grabbed his arm.  
‘Wait!’ He almost yelled. Jaskier roughly pulled his arm out of the Witchers grasp.  
‘Don’t. Touch me.’ Jaskier said through gritted teeth. Geralt took a step back, he’d never seen Jaskier like this before, he looked almost menacing. ‘What do you want from me, Geralt?’ He asked.  
‘I owe you an apology.’ Geralt said, meeting Jaskiers gaze. Several moments passed by. Jaskier rolled his eyes.  
‘Right, well, are you going to get to it at some point?’ He asked, clearly growing agitated. Geralt sighed, looking down again.  
‘I’m sorry.’ He said plainly. Jaskier almost laughed.  
‘That’s it? ‘I’m sorry.’ No, not good enough. You’re going to have to do better than that, Witcher.’ Geralt ran his fingers through his hair, he wasn’t good at this.  
‘I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m not good at this sort of thing. But I-‘ he paused, looking around the room as if searching for inspiration. ‘I didn’t mean it. Any of it.’ He finally finished. Jaskier could see the Witcher was struggling, he felt almost sorry for the man, his face softened. 

‘I gave you so much.’ Jaskier said, there was no longer any anger in his voice, he sounded lost, hurt. ‘You tore out my heart and threw it on the ground, Geralt.’ He continued, Geralt thought he heard him sniffling, he couldn’t bare to look at him.  
‘I know. I was angry. Not at you, at myself. I took it out on you, and that was wrong of me. I didn’t mean any of it.’ Geralt said, fidgeting slightly. He felt uncomfortable. Jaskier said nothing. ‘Everything I touch, I fuck up.’ Geralt continued.  
‘You think so?’ Jaskier asked, Geralt finally met his eyes and nodded.  
‘I do.’ He said. Jaskier seemed to ponder this statement for a moment.  
‘Well, it must be true then.’ He replied. Geralt chewed at his bottom lip.  
‘Alright, I deserve that. You don’t have to forgive me, it’s true that I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But, I want you to understand.’ Jaskier didn’t reply, he was waiting for Geralt to continue.  
‘Feelings, emotions. I don’t know what to do with them, how to process them. I was hurt by someone else, and so I hurt you, because I didn’t know what else to do.’ He finished with a sigh. This wasn’t a very good apology, and he knew it. Jaskier took a step closer.  
‘You were never taught how to deal with such things, because you are a Witcher, and Witchers shouldn’t have emotions.’ Jaskier said, it was more of statement than a question, Geralt nodded anyway. ‘I never believed that. That Witchers don’t feel. You are not a monster.’ Jaskier continued softly.  
‘I feel like one.’ Geralt replied, looking away. Jaskier smiled ever so slightly.  
‘No, you’re just an idiot.’  
‘I regretted it. The second I said those words, I regretted them. But I didn’t take them back, because I realised, that was my chance.’ Geralt said, Jaskier took a step back, he looked hurt again.  
‘Right, I get it. It was your chance to get rid of me.’ He replied. Geralt shook his head.  
‘No, you don’t understand. It was my chance to let you go. Your chance to get rid of me.’ Jaskier furrowed his brow in confusion. ‘You deserve better than this life, better than a life of rough sleeping, blood and monsters. It’s not fair. You deserve more. I never hated you Jaskier, not even at the beginning. I pushed you away to save you, don’t you understand? I’m a Witcher for a reason, this life is dangerous.’ Geralt paused. ‘You could get hurt. What would I do then? If you lost your life because of me? I couldn’t live with myself.’ He’d just said more in one statement than he’d said in the last week.  
‘That’s incredibly selfish of you, you know that?’ Jaskier said, dejected. ‘It’s my life, I can do what I want with it. You hurt me just to save yourself some pain? That’s what’s not fair.’ 

They remained in silence for some time, Jaskier had moved to sit on the palliasse, resting his chin in his hands, Geralt was back at the window, staring at nothing. ‘I missed you.’ Geralt finally worked up the courage to say, Jaskier lifted his head. ‘I missed the noise.’ Geralt continued. Jaskier slowly stood up, silently walking over to the Witcher. ‘When you first insisted on joining me, it irritated me at first, I’ll admit. I missed the silence. But when you were gone, the silence became unbearable. I missed your singing, I missed the lute, I missed your complaining and incessant chattering. I missed you dragging me into impossible situations. I missed your smile and your laugh.’ He took in a deep breath, then turned to face the bard who was now stood behind him. ‘I missed you, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me?’ Jaskier smiled softly and sweetly. That smile, he missed that smile.  
‘Perhaps. On two conditions.’ Jaskier declared, Geralt raised an eyebrow.  
‘What are they?’ He asked, intrigued.  
‘First, you at least try to learn how to properly deal with your emotions. Your brooding and lamenting is somewhat distracting. I’ll help, I’ll listen.’ He stated, Geralt nodded.  
‘Alright, and what’s the second?’ He asked. Jaskier smiled sheepishly.  
‘You give me a hug.’ He said. Geralt blinked.  
‘I- Of course, come here.’ He answered, pulling the bard into his arms. Jaskier smiled into his shoulder.  
‘I missed you too.’ He muttered, then sniffed. He tried to stop the tears, but couldn’t, they ran down his cheeks as he clung to the Witcher. Geralt stepped back slightly.  
‘Hey, what’s wrong? Don’t cry!’ Geralt said in panic. He didn’t know what to do, but he found himself reaching up, wiping his thumbs over Jaskier’s cheekbones. ‘Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry, then I’ll have to kill you.’ He said. Jaskier laughed and sniffled.  
‘You wouldn’t.’ He replied softly, resting his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder as he pulled him closer again. He could have sworn he felt Geralt press a small kiss against his head.  
‘Hmm.’ Geralt replied, Jaskier smiled against the leather of his armour. It seemed he had finally ran out of words. Neither of them made an attempt to move from the embrace, until Jaskier remembered something. He gasped, pulling away.  
‘My lute! Geralt!’ He said in panic, Geralt merely smiled, pointing to the lute which rested against the wall in the corner of the room.  
‘You saved my lute.’ Jaskier said softly with a smile. Panic over.  
‘Of course I saved your lute. What good is a bard without his lute?’


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 99% porn, enjoy.

*two weeks later*

‘Geralt, I’m cold, and wet, and tired. My feet are soaked!’ Jaskier declared, fidgeting slightly on the back of his horse, who was trailing just behind Roach, their hooves clip-clopping against the gravel road. Geralt rolled his eyes.  
‘Quit complaining, there’s an inn not far, we’ll rest for the night soon.’  
‘How soon? It’s already getting dark, and I think it’s starting to rain again!’ Jaskier grumbled as he felt a drop of water slide down his nose.  
‘Soon enough. Now stop complaining, or I’ll leave you here.’ Geralt replied. Jaskier scoffed.  
‘No you wouldn’t.’ He announced, spurring his horse so that he was riding side by side with Geralt.  
‘Don’t try me, bard.’ Geralt murmured, glancing over at his companion. Jaskier grinned at him.  
‘I know you wouldn’t. Because you like it, you like my complaining and ‘incessant chattering.’ You said so yourself.’ Jaskier said puffing his chest with pride. Geralt rolled his eyes again, reaching over to hit the bard in the arm. Jaskier huffed.  
‘Ow!’ He complained.  
‘Don’t whinge, that didn’t hurt.’ Geralt jested with a smile.  
‘Did too.’ Jaskier replied with a pout, he felt another drop of rain hit his face.  
‘Jaskier. Shut up.’ 

They managed to secure a box-room for the night. It was small, but cosy, and at least there was a real bed. Jaskier toed off his boots, frowning at the water that spilt out of them. ‘Good lord, Geralt. I’m going to get trench foot!’ Jaskier complained once again. Geralt suspected he was doing it on purpose now.  
‘Hmm.’ Geralt replied, stripping down to his underclothes. Jaskier followed suit, then quickly jumped onto the bed, pulling the thin blanket around himself.  
‘I’m freezing.’ He continued with his complaining, looking up at Geralt who approached the bed.  
‘Yeah, so am I, might have something to do with the fact that it’s cold outside. Move over.’ He said, Jaskier shuffled across so that Geralt could sit on the bed. ‘Are you going to share that blanket?’ He asked with raised eyebrow.  
‘You’re a Witcher, don’t you have some sort of heat preserving ability?’ Jaskier pouted, reluctant to give up the blanket.  
‘I get cold, Jaskier. I am cold. Come here.’ Geralt said, laying down and opening his arms. Jaskier was hesitant, but finally settled down close to the Witcher, throwing the blanket over both of them. He rested his head against Geralt’s chest, he could hear his heart beating, slow and steady.

Jaskier tried to sleep, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm of the Witcher’s heart. He couldn’t. He kept thinking back to the day Geralt apologised to him. Something had happened between them, he could have sworn it. He felt it. He was sure Geralt has pressed his lips against his head, and now, they were so close, so very close. Jaskier shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, his hand was resting against Geralt’s abdomen, he so desperately wanted to slide it lower.  
‘Jaskier?’ Geralt suddenly spoke up, Jaskier startled, he thought the Witcher had been asleep.  
‘Hmm?’ The bard replied, trying to pretend that his mind hadn’t just wandered to where it had.  
‘You okay?’ Geralt asked, he slid his hand down Jaskier’s back, causing him to shiver.  
‘Yeah, uh, can’t sleep.’ Jaskier replied, trying to ignore the tingling feeling Geralt had just caused.  
‘Thought you were tired?’ Geralt asked.  
‘I guess I’m not as tired as I thought.’ Jaskier replied, shifting awkwardly again. Geralt raised a brow, though Jaskier couldn’t see it, his face still pressed against his chest.  
‘Your heart is pounding, are you feeling well?’ Geralt asked. Since when did the Witcher ask so many question?  
‘Is it?’ Jaskier replied nervously. ‘I’m fine, Geralt.’ He continued, willing his heart to calm down.  
‘Yeah, I can hear it. You’re also quite warm now.’ Geralt continued to talk, Jaskier cursed him under his breath. He pulled away slightly, accidentally catching Geralt’s gaze, he was staring at him with curiosity. Jaskier flushed.  
‘Maybe I am getting sick.’ Jaskier stumbled his way through the excuse, averting his eyes from Geralt’s. He felt like an animal caught in a snare. 

The next few moments were a blur for Jaskier, Geralt had gently cupped his chin, and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. Jaskier swallowed.  
‘G-Geralt?’ He questioned, his heart was really thumping now, he thought it might explode out of his chest. Geralt’s lips were suddenly on his, rough and demanding. Jaskier gasped, his head swam, he felt hot and cold all at the same time. He forgot to kiss back. Geralt pulled away. Jaskier blinked.  
‘I’m sorry, was that not okay?’ Geralt asked, glancing down, he must have read Jaskier wrong. Jaskier stuttered.  
‘What? No! That was so okay!’ He replied, scrambling to press their lips back together. He needed more, oh heavens, he needed more. 

Geralt kissed the bard back, he was more careful, hesitant this time. Jaskier pressed harder, sliding his hand under Geralt’s undershirt, roaming it across his chest and back down to his stomach, fingers ghosting the soft hairs that grew there. Geralt, spurred on by Jaskiers eagerness, became more forceful and demanding with his kiss. He ran his tongue across Jaskier’s bottom lip, inciting a shudder and soft moan as the bard parted his lips, allowing Geralt’s tongue to twist with his own. It felt so good, it was too much, and not enough. Jaskier moaned louder into the kiss, clawing at Geralt’s chest under his shirt. He needed to breathe, but he was afraid that if the kissing stopped, it would all be over. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip with his teeth, then pulled away. Jaskier blinked lazily, he felt like he might be drowning. 

‘This still okay?’ Geralt asked, now sliding his hand under Jaskiers shirt, delicately running his fingers up his spine. He sounded timid, it melted Jaskier’s heart.  
‘Yes. This is okay. This is more than okay.’ Jaskier whispered, eyes fluttering shut as Geralt’s fingers danced across his skin. He never imagined Geralt could have such a gentle touch, it was driving him mad, he was already falling apart. He wasn’t used to this, he was used to making other people succumb under his touch. But it felt so good, too good, he wanted more, but he didn’t want it to end. He shuddered again as Geralt’s fingers reached the small of his back, he was painfully hard.  
‘Jas?’ Geralt said softly, lazily. Jas? That was new, he’d never called him that before. He hummed a reply, unable to convince his mouth to form words. ‘Look at me.’ Geralt said. His tone was soft, but so commanding, Jaskier opened his eyes and looked up. Geralt pressed his lips against his again, Jaskier sighed. This surely must be what heaven felt like, perhaps he did die when the werewolf attacked him. He was dead, and he was in heaven. 

Geralt manoeuvred Jaskier onto his back without breaking the kiss, he straddled his hips, sliding his tongue into his mouth once again. Jaskier moaned, squirming under the weight of the Witcher. Geralt has hard too, he could feel his cock against his own through the thin barrier of their underwear. Geralt suddenly pulled away, then moved to kiss his neck, he bit and sucked softly at the delicate skin, making Jaskier shudder, he wrapped his arms around the Witcher’s back, clutching at his shirt. Geralt ran his tongue up Jaskier’s neck, stopping just beneath his ear. ‘Okay?’ Geralt whispered into his ear, Jaskier whimpered. What he wanted to say was ‘fuck, Geralt, stop asking me if I’m okay and do something!’ But all he could manage was a strangled ‘yes’ as Geralt caught his earlobe between his teeth, grinding his hips down ever so slightly. He pulled away with a smirk, motioning for Jaskier to sit up so he could remove his shirt, he tossed it across the room, then removed his own, carelessly tossing it aside too. Jaskier bit his lip, eyes roaming the Witcher’s naked chest. This was really happening, oh gods, this was really happening. 

‘You’re beautiful, you know that?’ Geralt spoke up, slowly tracing his fingers through the bard’s dark chest hair. Jaskier flushed, running his own fingers up Geralt’s biceps. ‘Really beautiful.’ Geralt said again.  
‘Geralt, now is not the time to get sappy.’ Jaskier whined, digging his short nails into the Witcher’s arms ever so slightly.  
‘No?’ Geralt asked with a smirk, grinding his hips against Jaskier’s, who gasped at the sudden friction. ‘First I’m not emotional enough, and now I’m too emotional. I can’t win with you.’ Geralt continued, now running his fingers over Jaskier’s nipples. Jaskier dug his nails in harder, bucking his hips up.  
‘Please, Geralt.’ He practically begged.  
‘Please, what?’ Geralt asked, smirking down at the bard. Jaskier whined. So, Geralt was a tease.  
‘I need more, please!’ Jaskier said again, moving his hands down to the Witcher’s thighs, then sliding them up slowly. He removed one hand and gently ghosted his fingers against the length of Geralt’s cock through his underwear. Geralt bit back a moan, Jaskier smirked, so, the Witcher might be vocal, interesting. 

Geralt began kissing down Jaskier’s neck, then over his collar bone, he was moving lower, kissing across his chest, stopping to flick his tongue out across his left nipple. Jaskier groaned, running his fingers through the Witcher’s hair, he could feel him smirking against his skin. Geralt moved lower still, pressing kisses against his stomach. Then lower again, he was attacking his right thigh with his lips and teeth now, leaving a trail of delicate blue bruises behind. Jaskier was squirming against the bed. Geralt really was a tease, and Jaskier was going to kill him if he didn’t get a move on. He felt the Witcher hovering just above his cock, he could feel his hot breath against him through the fabric of his underwear. Without warning Geralt’s lips were on him, licking and sucking at his cock through the fabric. Jaskier gasped, he couldn’t take this anymore, it was torture.  
‘Fuck.’ He choked out. Geralt glanced up at him, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, yanking them down with one swift motion. 

Jaskier was convinced he was going to die, Geralt was really going to kill him. He had thumbed his cock aside, and was now bitting and sucking at his stomach, he could feel pre-cum dripping onto his skin. ‘Geralt. Geralt, please! Please stop teasing. I can’t take it.’ He whined, squeezing the Witchers shoulders. Geralt sat up.  
‘Or what, bard?’ He asked with a glint in his eye. Jaskier swallowed.  
‘Or I’ll fucking kill you, Witcher.’ Jaskier replied, Geralt smirked.  
‘I’d like to see you try.’ he said with a growl, then moved back down to slowly lick up the length of his cock. Jaskier cried out. Finally, finally. Geralt took his cock into his mouth, sucking long and hard, moving down the length, and back up, running his tongue over the tip. Jaskier had been wrong before, this, this was what heaven felt like. 

‘Fuck, Geralt! Ah! So good.’ Jaskier panted out as Geralt worked on his cock, occasionally letting it slide out of his mouth, licking and kissing up the length before taking it back into his mouth, sucking and moaning around him. Jaskier pulled at the Witcher’s hair. ‘Geralt, fuck, you’re going to have to stop.’ He muttered, biting his lip. ‘I- I won’t last.’ Geralt let his cock go with a pop, Jaskier whimpered. Geralt removed his own underwear then moved up to place a gentle kiss against Jaskier’s lips, then his nose.  
‘I don’t deserve this.’ Geralt suddenly said, cupping his cheek and looking into his eyes. Jaskier furrowed his brow.  
‘Geralt, we’re in the middle of something.’ He protested. Geralt moved to straddle his hips again.  
‘I know, but still, I don’t deserve you.’ Geralt said again. Jaskier didn’t understand how the Witcher could go from rough and demanding to sappy as hell in a matter of seconds, he was like a bloody yo-yo. Still, the sappiness sent tingles throughout his body. He cupped the back of the Witchers neck, bringing him down for a soft kiss before letting him go.  
‘There’s oil in my bag.’ Jaskier said, sliding his hands across Geralt’s chest.  
‘Of course there is.’ He replied, moving off him to fetch it. Jaskier watched, taking in the sight of Geralt’s naked body from afar. 

Jaskier looked up at the Witcher as he approached the bed. ‘Hmm, now that is a pretty sight.’ He purred, reaching out to grab the Witchers’s hip. Geralt stopped at the edge of the bed, Jaskier ran a thumb over his hip bone with a smirk. He leant foreword, flicking his tongue of the tip of Geralt’s cock, then took the head into his mouth, sucking gently. Geralt clenched his fists.  
‘Fuck.’ He muttered softly. ‘You look so good doing that.’ He commented, Jaskier glanced up at him, smirking around his cock before sinking his head lower. Geralt gasped. It was quiet, but it was there, the Witcher was indeed, vocal. Geralt allowed Jaskier to suck up and down his length a couple of times before stepping back and crouching down so that he was face to face with the bard. He kissed him softly, then pulled away. ‘On your stomach.’ He commanded, and Jaskier did what he was told. 

Geralt positioned himself over Jaskier, placing gentle kisses down his spine, he was breathing heavily into the pillow. Geralt stopped at the small of his back, then licked back up, Jaskier muttered something about him teasing again.  
Geralt uncorked the oil, slicking his fingers with the liquid. ‘Relaxed?’ He asked, running a finger over his entrance. Jaskier whimpered and nodded. Geralt slowly pressed the first finger inside, he was watching Jaskier carefully, gauging his reaction. He didn’t stiffen, but he did clutch at the pillow. ‘Okay?’ Geralt asked, hesitating. He really wasn’t sure if Jaskier had done this before, though he was sure he would have mentioned something if it was his first time. Jaskier nodded again, pushing his hips back.  
‘Feels good, continue, please.’ He replied, his voice muffled against the pillow. Geralt relaxed somewhat, slowly moving his finger in and out of the bard who was beginning to moan into the pillow. He pressed a second finger in, Jaskier pushed back again, rising his hips off the bed slightly. Geralt groaned at the sight. He looked good like this, really good. He began scissoring his fingers, twisting them inside the bard, stretching him out. Jaskier was moaning louder now, but Geralt was about to make him really sing. He curled his fingers, hitting just the right spot inside of him. ‘Ah! Ooh, fuck!’ Jaskier cried out, pushing his hips back as much as he could, desperate for more. Geralt smirked, slowly pressing his fingers into the spot again. ‘Geralt, please!’ Jaskier whimpered, and Geralt added a third finger, slowly pushing them in and out, stretching and occasionally hitting that spot. 

‘More, Geralt! I need more.’ Jaskier panted against the pillow. Geralt leant over him so that his lips were by his ear, he curled his fingers again.  
‘Tell me what you want, Jas. I want to hear you say it.’ Geralt crooned into his ear, and Jaskier swore he nearly came there and then.  
‘F-fuck me.’ Jaskier whimpered, rocking his hips against Geralts fingers, but Geralt wasn’t letting up.  
‘Ask me nicely.’ He replied with a smirk.  
‘Unnnf, Geralt. Ah, please! Please fuck me! I need it!’ Jaskier begged. Geralt slowly removed his fingers, moving to slick up his cock with the oil.  
‘That’s better. On your back.’ 

Jaskier watched as Geralt positioned himself between his legs, he nudged the tip of his cock against his entrance. Jaskier closed his eyes and bit his lip. ‘Please, Geralt.’ He whispered, he’d never wanted something so desperately in all his life. Geralt gripped his hips, pushing foreword slowly, the head of his cock slid into the bard with little resistance, Geralt couldn’t keep himself from groaning as he sunk in further. He forced himself to stop, to check Jaskier’s reaction. The bard was gripping the sheets, his eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open with pleasure. Geralt pushed forward again, sinking all the way in until their hips met.  
‘Fuck, yes.’ Jaskier whispered again, arching his back slightly off the bed, Geralt thought he looked gorgeous. He leant forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. Jaskier squirmed beneath him. 

‘You okay?’ Geralt asked, Jaskier nodded quickly.  
‘Yes, move, please.’ He begged. Geralt didn’t need telling twice, he gripped the bard’s hips, beginning to rock back and fourth, slowly and gently at first, then picking up speed as Jaskier’s moans grew louder and louder. He angled his hips, searching for that spot. Jaskier suddenly cried out. ‘Unff, yes, right there! Ah! Fuck! Harder! Please Geralt, harder!’ Jaskier was practically screaming, Geralt moaned loud back in reply, thrusting in as hard as he dared, hitting that spot every time. Jaskier began to babble, Geralt knew he was close. ‘Oooh, Geralt, so good, you feel so good. Yes, yes! Fuuuuuck!’ Geralt leant over to whisper in his ear.  
‘You close?’ He asked, reaching down to stroke Jaskier’s cock.  
‘Yes, yes. So close, so cloooose.’ He cried out in reply.  
‘Cum for me.’ Geralt purred into his ear, stoking and rocking his hips hard and fast. Jaskier tightened his legs around Geralt’s waist and with one last cry, spilled over his hand. Geralt moaned as Jaskier tightened around him, he reached his release soon after.  
‘Fuck, Jas, I love you!’ He cried as he came deep inside him. 

‘Oh wow. Fuck. Wow.’ Jaskier panted, coming down from his high as Geralt rolled off him. He watched Geralt stand and cross the room, searching for a rag to clean himself up with. ‘That was amazing. You’re amazing.’ Jaskier continued to babble on, Geralt tossed him the rag after he was done with it.  
‘So are you.’ He replied softly, he genuinely sounded happy. Jaskier grinned, cleaning himself up. He did that, he was the cause of that happiness. ‘Coming back to bed?’ Jaskier asked, Geralt nodded, making his way over and slipping under the covers beside the bard. Jaskier snuggled closer, resting his head on his chest once more. His heart was still beating as slowly and steadily as before.  
‘I hope you can sleep now.’ Geralt commented, gently combing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair.  
‘Oh, I think I’ll be able to.’ He replied sleepily. 

‘Did you mean it?’ Jaskier spoke up again after a few moments.  
‘Mean what?’ Geralt asked. Jaskier sat up on his elbow.  
‘You said you loved me. I realise you may have only said it in the throes of passion. It’s okay if you didn’t mean it, I’m just curious.’ Jaskier asked, glancing down.  
‘I meant it.’ Geralt said tenderly, reaching up to cup his cheek. ‘I love you, Jaskier.’ Jaskier looked back up, meeting Geralt’s eyes.  
‘You do?’ He asked, still sounding unsure.  
‘Yes. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.’ Geralt replied, gently running his thumb over his cheekbone. Jaskier smiled softly, then settled back down.  
‘I never in a million years would have thought I would hear you say that.’ Jaskier said. Geralt went back to stroking his hair.  
‘Are you planning on saying it back?’ Geralt asked. ‘Or are you going to leave me here looking like an idiot?’  
‘Huh? Oh! Yes! I love you too!’ Jaskier exclaimed joyously, sitting up again and pressing his lips against the Witcher’s. ‘I love you too.’


End file.
